Fighting Firaxa: Baptism by Fire
by Venetia1245
Summary: First Lieutenant Joran Sayall is a Republic fighter pilot fresh out of flight school, and is thrown into the midst of the Jedi Civil War against the ominous forces of the Sith Empire. Joined by his companions in the 482nd "Fighting Firaxa", he is determined to fight for not only the ideals and values of the Republic, but also the trust and admiration of his comrades.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** **This is my very first attempt at writing a fanfic. Any kind of constructive criticism is more than welcomed!**

**Republic Naval Station Dodonna, Orbiting Corellia, 3,957 BBY**

The Republic petty officer looked over my resume with a slothful speed. He was far past his better years, maybe about fifty years or so, with his fat hanging over his belt by a couple inches, and an unshaven beard that looked like it better belonged on a shaggy bantha. He yawned, and finally put down the paper after minutes of looking it over.

"Congratulations, Ensign..." He said with a fairly lethargic tone. It was as if he couldn't give a crap about his life at this point.

"Sayall, sir. Joran Sayall." I told him, with a fairly neutral tone in my voice.

"Well, in light of recent events, mostly that our command staff was massacred at Lannik, you've been promoted to First Lieutenant. You're to be transferred to the _Cavalier_ immediately."

He stood up slowly, brushing off his uniform, and gave a salute. The middle-aged man read out my assignment, and gave me information about the squadron I was to command.

"You will be serving in the 482nd Tactical Fighter Wing, or as they like to call themselves, the 'Fighting Firaxa'. You'll find your new uniform in your quarters on the ship." He tapped a few buttons on his datapad, and sent the files to me, indicating where my room on the ship was.

"Thank you. I'll make the Republic proud in this war." I shook his hand, and we both saluted each other.

There was a look in his eyes that seemed to indicate a forlorn hope. It was as if this man had lost everything, but had this tiny ounce of faith for better days still left in him, despite his age.

"I know you will, sir. Every brave young man and woman like you will. Even in a hopeless war like this, the Republic will win."

I walked away from the office, and reached one of the many corridors onboard the vast station. Outside, I could see the emerald and azure sphere of Corellia occupying the entire background, clouds swirling above its surface, and brilliant sunlight reflecting off its oceans. In front, was the ship I was assigned to, the Cavalier. It was a Hammerhead-class frigate, like the kind we used in the Mandalorian Wars in days of old. Her hull was a bit weathered from battle damage, but not so much like other ships, which were in danger of falling apart. A quirky little thing about the ship, was that its name was displayed proudly across the starboard side. Few Republic ships ever did anything beyond the basic red and white paint, let alone display the name on the side.

I continued walking past a couple Republic officers and soldiers scurrying through the hallways, until I came to the airlock of the Cavalier. There were two soldiers guarding the door. I could hear snippets of their gossip, and figured it probably related to things like who drank all the caffa in the mess hall. Once they got sight of me in my officer's uniform, with its dark red body laced with gold and black, they snapped at attention, trying to look all official.

"Evening, sir. Show me your ID, and state your business here." The one on the right said.

Following regulations, I handed the man my card. It contained the usual things, like my name, rank, and service number. After looking over it, he held up a finger to keep me from explaining my transfer.

"Alright sir, everything checks out. Captain Ferezal is expecting you on the bridge."

"With a side of steak sauce..." muttered his companion, followed by a quick elbow to his side.

"Cut it out, Jacen. You know he'll ice you for that crap!" warned the first soldier.

"But it's true!"

With a small chuckle, I left the two to their chatting. The inside of the Republic cruiser was teeming like a hive of Genosians, crew going every which way to their stations. Having been given a map of the ship from the petty officer back in the office, it was easy to figure out where the bridge was. I made my way to the nearest lift, and rode it to the command deck. Walking onto the bridge, I saw a man standing among the consoles being manned by the bridge staff. He turned towards me, with this pompous look on his face. Asshole looked like he thought he was king of the universe. And when he opened his mouth, he sounded more egotistical than a Sith Lord.

"I see, you're late, Lieutenant. We do not tolerate _tardiness_ on _my_ ship."

As soon as he opened his mouth, I could tell two things. Judging by his uniform, he was most certainly Captain Ferezal. I could also tell the guy was more pompous than a Hutt crime lord, with a handlebar moustache to go with it. But already having dealt with such officers before, I decided I should just go along with it.

"I'm sorry, sir. I got a little lost around the ship, I-"

"That is simply _no _excuse, Lieutenant. Unless you were dead or dying, I expect you to be on the ship and where you are ordered to be at the very moment I expect you to, if not earlier."

I bit my tongue having to listen to this idiot, but knowing I couldn't do much about it, I simply nodded my head respectfully, and heard him continue.

"Now then, I could have spent the last few minutes explaining to you your assignment. We will be leaving Dodonna Station in thirty minutes, and plot a hyperspace jump for the Kessel sector, a journey that will take us approximately four hours. The area is a highly contested area, fraught with frequent skirmishes between Republic and Sith forces. We are to fill in for the recently lost _Corellian Star, _and assist the _Lance Held High, Morningstar, _and _Bloodhound_. They are defending the planetoid from Sith and pirates. Once we are there, stand by for deployment. Your squadron has already been briefed on the matter, and you will be assigned a formation position when you launch. That is all, Lieutenant. You are off-duty until such a time." At the end of Captain Ferezal's briefing, I snapped a sharp salute, and walked away as formally as possible. As soon as I got out of his sight, however, I immediately resumed my casual walk down the halls.

It was funny how the Republic always had everything in either orange, white, or red. It seemed like deviating from any variation of those colors was like defecting to the Sith. The corridors I was strutting through were oval-shaped, with clean white walls, and red baseboards made of plasteel covering the "corners" of the ovals where the rounded plates met, while the floor was a more simple design of square deck plates that gleamed white in the bright overhead lighting.

I tapped the button for the turbolift, and waited for it to arrive. Whilst waiting, a young human woman walked up to me, wearing the typical brown coat and overalls of a Republic pilot. The epaulettes and ribbon bars indicated her to be an ensign with some weeks of flying under her belt. Her face was a bit rough and weathered, sporting a blonde pixie cut. She stood at attention, snapping a smart salute. The surname "Corso" was sewed onto the right side of her uniform.

"At ease. I'm off-duty, so no need to salute." She relaxed a bit, and leaned against the wall.

"So, you're the new Lieutenant they sent here?" Her voice appeared to have an accent from Hutt territory, not dissimilar from the way most Twi'leks speak. "I guess you've met Ferezal already?"

I shrugged my shoulders "Yeah. Can't say I'm a big fan of the guy, myself. Seems to have a bit of a stick up his ass."

"Yeah, that _stoopa _seems to generate that reaction from everyone." she sighed. "Headed down to the rec room for a bit? I'll join you."

I nodded my head, and we both stepped into the turbolift cab when it arrived, pressing a button that said "Deck 7-Crew Quarters and Accommodations". I felt the lift shoot downwards, as the spaceship vibrated, separating from the space station. The journey to Kessel had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rpublic Cruiser ****_Cavalier_****, En Route to Kessel**

The doors of the turbolift opened as we reached the floor of the rec room. Of course, rec room didn't seem like a very accurate description for what I was walking into. It was more like a rec hall, with the normally bright lights replaced with dim yellow illumination, and the hard floors replaced with carpet. The place seemed to be both a rec room and a mess hall, with what looked to be a bar near the food line. The air was filled with tabac smoke, both in smell, and in sight. There were about three HoloNet screens scattered throughout the room, with chairs, tables, and couches scattered throughout. Ensign Corso pointed to two seats at the bar to it down at, and I followed her there. Sitting down, an automated protocol droid had rolled up to us. Something about this place just didn't click right with me.

"Place your beverage order, please." It whirred, shifting around robotically.

"I'll pass." I said.

"And a Chadian Rum for me." she ordered, as the droid promptly walked off to the drink station to prepare them.

I think it was at this point that it finally hit me just how wasteful and needless all of this was, especially in a wartime scenario. The amount of space that was taken up could have been better put to use with an extension of a medbay or training room. But instead, whoever was in charge of all this, be it the quartermaster or captain, thought brandy was more important than bacta. It made me angry thinking of it, and the ensign probably took notice of it.

"Lieutenant, what's up? Something on your mind?" she asked. Her tone was somehow both apathetic and concerned, as if she was trying to stay relaxed, but failed to hide interest.

"Is all of this luxury and extravagance really fucking necessary? I've heard of officers taking it over the top, but damn, this is beyond that. This is a warship, not a pleasure cruise." I said, irritated at all of it.

All she could really do was shrug, at this point. "I guess you've got a point there, but with Ferezal being a stuck-up asshole, there's not much we can do but leech off his corruption. Besides, doesn't mean we can't enjoy a drink or two every now and then. By the way, I don't think you ever told me your name, Lieutenant."

"Joran, Joran Sayall. Yours?" I said, not realizing how she had just changed topics.

"Mina Corso. You seem to be fresh out of flight school. Any sort of combat experience in the cockpit?" she asked.

Ah, the question I had been dreading this whole time. "Well, I recently graduated flight school, top of class. Before that, I took private lessons."

She was very surprised to hear it, as I expected. "You mean to tell me that the _schuttas_ at Fleet Command sent you, fresh out of school, to command a frontline squadron? Are they idiots?" Her hand met her face, expressing extreme discontent for the higher-ups, and was taking it out on me.

"Hey, it's not my faul-" I started saying, but was cut off by what felt like an explosion going off. The lights began to flicker as tables fell over, and various bottles and items crashed onto the floor. The next thing I knew, Mina and I were lying on the floor, struggling to get up. A few seconds later, the voice of a bridge officer came on the ship's intercom, accompanied by a blaring alarm.

"This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill! General quarters, general quarters! All hands man your battle stations! Fighter pilots, prepare for hard takeoff!"

We both got up off the floor, moving out the door as fast as we could. The hangar was on Level 9, which was two levels down. We took the maintainance shafts down there, criscrossing the various pipes and ladders that lead down below, as mechanics ran past us with toolboxes in hand, en route to assess damage and report it to the bridge. Once we reached the locker room, I made a quick change of clothes into my flightsuit, taking care to double-check everything. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the other pilots getting ready: One male Twi'lek, two male humans, and another female human. I'd get to know them all later, since they had all run out of the room anyways. Following suit, I could see six Aurek-class starfighters already lined up for launch, their delta bodies a weathered cream color. I saw the one in the middle, marked "Firaxa 1" on the side, had its engines already warmed up. Flight mechanics floating everywhere in the zero-grav environment, disconnecting hoses, prepping catapults, and guiding the Aureks onto said catapults. I hopped into my fighter, seeing all the system panels light up green. The canopy overhead came down and pressurized the cockpit. A crackling came from my headset as the deck chief began giving me directions.

"Firaxa One, catapult ready, you're launching first, and in the front! Firaxa Squadron will follow suit! Prepare for launch!"

To the right of me, a mechanic gave the traditional signal for fighter launch from a catapult, in military service for tens, maybe hundreds, of thousands of years before. At that moment, I suddenly felt the full g-forces of the launch slam into me as I braced myself against the handles on the canopy. Gritting my teeth, I wrapped my hands around the flightstick when the turbulence of launch passed, looking behind me to see the other fighters begin to launch. One by one their IFF signatures lit up as they formed up on my wing. The folded wings now extended out, revealing laser cannons jutting out from the tips. Ahead of us, a gargantuan Sith Interdictor had appeared, its silver crescent shape casting a malignant scowl on us. In front of us, the signatures of eight Sith fighters popped up, packed tightly together like a roll of yarn.

"Firaxa Squadron, enter line abreast formation, twenty meters apart. Let's send these Sith bastards straight to hell!" I ordered. Despite all the bravado I claimed in my voice, I felt like I was hiding the one thing that was nagging me at the back of my mind.

I was afraid.


End file.
